Tukul had seen Corban’s dismay when he’d realized that all were waiting on his decision.

Since their meeting in the dungeons of Queen Rhin’s fortress, Tukul had watched Corban with the intensity that a lifetime of expectation had nurtured. He is the Seren Disglair, the Bright Star, Elyon’s chosen avatar to stem the tide of Asroth and the legions of his Black Sun. How can any man bear such a burden? And yet Tukul had a confidence in the young man, born not only from faith, but also from what his eyes and instincts told him. He does not want to lead, and that is a good start. Only the vain and foolish crave such a responsibility. He is loyal to a fault, marching half a thousand leagues into a giant’s fortress to find his sister and rejecting Meical’s advice in doing so. That cannot have been easy, disagreeing with a warrior-angel. Tukul liked that.

‘Is he all right?’ Tukul asked Gar.

His son shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘He has lost much, learned much. I trust him.’

‘Good enough for me,’ Tukul said with a smile. He was looking forward to hearing Corban’s decision. It will tell me more of this man that I have sworn to follow. He’d better make his mind up soon, though. We cannot just wait here for the Kadoshim and Benothi to fall upon us like a hammer. About him the camp had been stripped down, horses saddled and ready, packs loaded, the fire kicked out, the giants grouped together, waiting, some of the bairns wrestling with one another upon the heather.

‘Help me here,’ Tukul ordered, lifting the corpse of a dead Kadoshim beneath the branches of a tree. More Jehar came to help. Eventually he stood back and surveyed his and his kins’ handiwork. It will serve.

A murmuring spread about him and he turned to see Corban leaning down to pick a purple thistle. He pressed the flower to his lips and placed it tenderly on the cairn, whispered something. Then he stood straight and strode to his stallion, his sister Cywen holding the bridle for him.

‘And where are we going?’ Meical asked Corban as the young warrior swung into his saddle.

Corban took a deep breath, looking at all those gathered about him. His eyes came back to rest upon Meical.

‘I don’t know.’

A silence settled.

Not the answer I was hoping for.

‘You have counselled me to go to Drassil,’ Corban said. ‘As I thought of your advice, which is probably good advice, though I don’t understand anything about prophecies and old forests and fortresses, my heart whispered to me. It said, you swore an oath to Edana.’

‘I counselled riding to Drassil for a reason,’ Meical said, speaking slowly, controlled. ‘The prophecy. You must go there.’

Tukul saw Corban’s eyes flicker to Gar. He is unsure, searches for reassurance.

‘We have already lost much time and accomplished little,’ Meical said, seeing Corban’s hesitancy. ‘And all the while Asroth is moving.’